Flowers

Tamryn Spruill

in a week or two
upheld by the coffee-table vase
they’ll be dried forever
 
pistils of flowers
repurposed
into spice-scented potpourri
from remnant wax of spent candles
 
       for
other vases
       in
other rooms
 
it was for other reasons she could not
make a family --
things she dared not mention
except in tongues:
 
abstruse musings on the
inner workings of gravity
 
in the context of Twitter
 
methods for crafting a booster rocket
for virtual reality
 
the integer formally known as reality
where
one day she might dine amongst
the verified,
gain followers
(though in life she had no game
for popularity):
 
feral galactic kids
known for their fickleness about the flavored
pixelated cyber milk
 
no matter the excuse of their hunger
 
i will feed them
a mammoplasty-scarred nipple
sleeping like a bottle     a
precursor to the deaths of kids
who turn 30